


meet me at the tide pools

by lightsaroundyourvanity



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Missing Scenes, bees schnees week 2020, filling in some of the blanks from v2-v5, minor appearance by Coco Adel, ruby pops in and out, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25413193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsaroundyourvanity/pseuds/lightsaroundyourvanity
Summary: Blake, Weiss, and Yang growing together in their Beacon years and beyond. It isn't always easy, but it always feels right.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Weiss Schnee/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 31
Kudos: 195





	meet me at the tide pools

**Author's Note:**

> for day one of bees schnees week 2020 (prompt is canon compliance <3)

Their second semester at Beacon, team RWBY starts to walk on a tightrope. Ruby is irrepressible, ready to take on the world, ready to make the most of the new weeks ahead. Blake is waning, ready to take on the world, ready to burn until she gutters in the quest to find Roman Torchwick. Weiss and Yang are caught in the middle, each trying to sway towards troubled balance in their own ways.

They search for pockets of relief: The scrap with JNPR in the cafeteria, laughing in the mess until their sides ached; soft banter in the morning when Yang is still half asleep and Blake has actually curled up in her bunk for a change, for an hour, for forty-five minutes. Games in the library, always spearheaded by Ruby, always peppered with worried glances towards Blake: As the afternoon wore on, she would always start to fidget.

Games in the library, where Weiss finds herself increasingly distracted by the billowing presence of Yang. Lately, Weiss is finding that Yang is _everywhere:_ Whipping her long blonde hair around so that Weiss can catch a whiff of her lemon scented shampoo. Bumping their knees together in class and leaning in close so that she can whisper silly commentary into Weiss’s ear. She wraps her arm around Weiss’s shoulders to give her a strategy lesson while they play Ruby’s board games, and Weiss can feel the heat of it press into the skin of her neck and arms, can feel it linger, can feel it stay. She blushes when Sun Wukong shows up and introduces his friend Neptune, and Neptune preens. He’s cute, but it’s still Yang on her mind when her thighs press together and her pulse quickens. It’s been Yang on her mind for days.

Blake leaves before the game is finished, and worry for her friend gnaws at the edge of Weiss’s keen interest. The spirit of the afternoon dies after Blake walks out.

“Should we go after her?” Weiss asks after a tense, silent moment.

Yang shrugs, a tiny, rueful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Nah,” she says. “Give her some time to think.”

Weiss listens. Of all of them, Yang knows Blake the best.

They drift out of the library soon afterwards. Ruby hangs behind to trade comics with Jaune and the rest of JNPR, and emphatically promises that Yang and Weiss don’t need to worry, that she’ll catch up, that she’ll clean up the game pieces that are still strewn across the table.

“It’s nice to see her making friends,” Yang says absently as she and Weiss walk down one of the wide school hallways of Beacon, out into the courtyard, scattered with students and shady trees that are starting to burn orange and red and gold with the changing seasons.

Weiss knows that Ruby has trouble connecting with other people sometimes, that Yang worries about her. She smiles and says, “Yeah. It’s nice to see her fitting in.” She means it. After a rocky beginning, Ruby has come to mean everything to Weiss. They all have. And Blake…

Weiss feels a sick drop to her stomach. She knows that the way she treated Blake in the earlier weeks had been appalling. Sometimes, she still doesn’t know how to talk to Blake. But she wants, she wants, to try. Blake had looked so tired all afternoon.

“Ruby’s not the only one making friends,” Yang adds. There’s a gleam in her eye as her mood twists from thoughtful to playful. “You see something you like in there, Ice Queen?”

“Not you, too,” Weiss says tartly. Inside, she is burning up. She thinks about Yang’s arm around her shoulder and knees bumping knees. Would Yang really call that out plain? Would she really be so bold?

“Oh, _Neptune,_ ” Yang singsongs in a prim, terrible impression of Weiss. “So nice to _meet_ you.” She grins.

Oh. _Neptune._ He’s a hazy watercolour next to the vivid strokes of Yang. Since her mouth cannot bear forming those words, Weiss says, “He seemed nice,” and her voice sounds faraway and small.

“Is that what you’re looking for? Someone nice? Jaune is right there. He’s nice.”

Weiss’s face grows hot. “I’m not _looking_ for anything,” she insists. A shrill note enters her tone, and she hates it, replays the grate of the twang and tries not to wince. 

“Why not? You deserve someone nice.” Yang’s grin grows wolfish. They’re standing by one of the school buildings, and Yang leans one arm against the wall. It has the effect of boxing Weiss halfway in – and maybe that’s the point.

Weiss leans back. Her shoulders bump up against brick. She tilts her chin upwards and sees Yang watching her, smirking, waiting for the tart reply. Instead, Weiss realizes that she has forgotten how to breathe. Or: Every inhale is rich with the lemon scent of Yang’s hair, of woodsmoke, and it’s making Weiss dizzy. Not for the first time, Weiss feels a sudden, hungry rush and wonders what it might be like to kiss Yang. It runs through her, fills her lungs and then pours lower, lower. What would happen if she tugged Yang’s head down, if their mouths crashed together, if Yang pressed her up against the wall and pushed a knee between her legs?

Weiss is staring. She can’t seem to look away. She is mortified. Her glance skates over the purple of Yang’s eyes and she sees interest there, sparkling and waiting. She’s still waiting for Weiss’s reply, while all Weiss wants to do is melt into the ground.

“Maybe nice isn’t my type,” Weiss musters the nerve to say.

“Oh yeah? What’s your type?” Yang cocks her head, and her hair tumbles over one shoulder. She’s standing close enough to Weiss that a blonde curl brushes her cheekbone. Weiss feels her lips part.

“Maybe I haven’t thought about it,” says Weiss, desperately trying to wrest back control.

“That’s too bad. How are we going to find you a date when you don’t even know what you’re looking for?” When Yang speaks, she touches Weiss’s chin lightly with her thumb. Too intimate to be friendly. Too casual to be anything more.

It’s almost too much for Weiss to bear. Yang is a miasma, and if Weiss hadn’t spent so many endless hours training control, she’d be plastering herself to Yang right now. She feels it anyway, the careful tether starting to fray, and it overwhelms her.

“I’m worried about Blake,” Weiss blurts. 

Yang pulls back immediately, the teasing notes sucked out of the lines of her body. Weiss doesn’t know why she said it, why Blake’s face flashed through her mind when she could feel the heat of Yang’s skin. But when Yang steps back, Weiss regains more control of her senses. And it’s true. She _is_ worried about Blake. Weiss thinks that Blake is still keeping a lot in, despite her promise last semester to open up to her friends more.

“Blake is…” Yang’s shoulders sag, at a loss. “Yeah. I am too. But what can we really do about it? She never wants to talk.” 

“Then we should _make_ her talk,” says Weiss. The heat turns conspiratory, partners in crime instead of… whatever they’d been a moment ago.

“You got a plan, Ice Queen?” asks Yang.

Weiss puts on a pained expression. “Is that nickname really sticking?”

“You don’t like it? I think it’s sexy. Especially after you get you know you, learn what’s really going on beneath the surface.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Weiss asks, fist propped on her hip.

“Hey, woah, not in a bad way.” Yang holds up her hands. She’s smiling. “You just always used to play it kind of bitchy and aloof. It’s cool to see there’s more going on there. Passion. Like with Blake.”

Weiss feels the tips of her ears turn pink when Yang links the words _passion_ and _Blake._ She’s still losing the thread of what Yang is saying, more as Blake’s golden eyes pull into focus in her mind. “I still don’t get it,” she says. Feigned ignorance is her last defense against the bone of the truth that Yang is cutting close to.

“Just that… you seem to really care about her.” There are words that Yang is not saying, and Weiss is more than happy to let that slide for now.

But Yang is right. Weiss does care about Blake, and she’s worried about her. She doesn’t want to let Blake sulk and hold her problems close to the chest. She wants Blake to let her in. To let them all in.

“I care about all of you,” Weiss murmurs. She means it. Yang, Blake, Ruby… they take the sting out of the cold, hollow place that Weiss came from. They’re making Weiss redefine the potential meanings of _home._ “I don’t have a plan. I just think we should go talk to Blake.”

“Lead the way, Weiss Queen.”

Weiss groans. “That’s even worse than the original!”

“You’re just mad because you can’t top my wit,” Yang says, laughing. “Love to see you try, though.”

“I just might,” Weiss replies with a sniff.

They wind towards the dormitories as they talk, bump into Ruby on the way, let her fall simply into their plan without question. She is not, Weiss notices, holding the game board. Weiss would bet Myrtenaster that it was still in the library, game pieces toppled in a spray.

\--

Weiss knew what she was talking about – Blake _was_ in a funk. Ever since the fight at the docks she’d been brooding, replaying the fight with Torchwick, the familiar White Fang masks on the faces of criminals, again and again in her mind. Was this Adam’s influence? Was this where he had decided to take the White Fang after she had run away? Blake feels sick to her stomach. She wonders if she could have stopped this if she had stayed. She wonders, very distantly, what Ilia had had to say about it all.

Blake thought she had been doing a good job keeping her distress hidden, putting up a placid front. If she was a little withdrawn, well, wasn’t she always? Weiss had shattered all of that when she’d confronted her, the shards on the ground refracting a million flecks of new light onto Blake. 

It made Blake swell with love: For Weiss, her team, her family. She had even managed to feel, for a night, that everything was going to be okay. But that had been before she had seen a White Fang rally cheering on Roman Torchwick, before they’d all seen him commandeer an Atlesian Paladin. Before Yang had been thrown through a concrete pillar and Blake, sick at heart, had listened for the sound of shattering bones.

Now Blake feels all twisted up again, churning mind, heavy heart.

They return to the dorms late. As soon as the adrenaline from the fight had washed out of them, Yang had sagged, her aura shot, and Blake and Ruby had to half drag her back to her bike, which the three of them pushed back to Beacon, Yang slung across it and mostly passed out.

Ruby nips across the hall to fill in JNPR, and Blake dumps Yang onto her own bed, not wanting to bother with the ladder. Yang murmurs briefly, but quickly falls asleep. Blake watches the muscles in her face relax from a huntress-in-training to something softer, golden, more innocent. She aches.

“She’ll be okay,” Weiss murmurs at Blake’s side. “You heard what Ruby said—her semblance—Yang is used to taking big hits.”

“Yeah, I know,” Blake says softly. “She just looks so…” Blake is at a loss for words.

Weiss doesn’t need them. “Yeah.” She reaches down, gently strokes Yang’s cheekbone where a purple bruise is starting to rise. “She’s not as tough as she wants us to think.”

Blake never wants to see the people she loves get hurt. But whatever the White Fang is mixed up in now – she’s brought it to their doorstep, and Yang has taken the brunt. Blake sinks to the ground and draws her knees to her chest.

“This is my fault. I never should have let you all get mixed up in my battles.”

“Don’t say that.” Weiss crouches before Blake. Very tentatively she reaches out, rests her palm on Blake’s knee.

“How can I not?” asks Blake. “We don’t even know where Sun and Neptune _are._ And Yang… what if… what if she had…”

“Sun and Neptune are probably off at a noodle house somewhere,” says Weiss, which makes Blake smile. “Yang will be fine. She just needs some rest.”

“I hope so.” Blake’s eyes skitter towards Yang again. Blake wants to take her sleeping hand.

“I know so.” Weiss’s smile is reassuring. “Don’t you think Ruby would be in here driving us all crazy if Yang were in real trouble?”

Weiss is right, and Blake wants to let it relieve her – but she can’t help herself. She frets. She thinks of all the times that Adam ended up hurting somebody, all the times that he sneered at her, told her it was all her fault, and Blake doesn’t want to, but she believes him. Her friends would have been nowhere near this tonight if it hadn’t been for her.

 _And a dangerous weapon would have fallen into the hands of a criminal,_ a small voice reminds Blake. _Maybe that’s worth the risk._

Maybe it was. Maybe it is. But Blake is worried that the voice in her head is still Adam’s, smudging every line, heedless of the cost. 

“You can’t fight every battle alone,” Weiss continues, echoing Blake’s thoughts. “We’re your teammates. I’d rather go down fighting by your side than be kept in the dark any day of the week. Yang, too.”

“Maybe.” Blake doesn’t sound convinced. Blake _isn’t_ convinced.

Blake had come to Beacon because she wanted to help people. It’s what she’d wanted in those long years with the White Fang, and it’s what she wants now as a huntress. But she casts a long shadow over her team – and it’s not helping them. It’s leaving them vulnerable.

There are a thousand things that Weiss could and will say right now: That a huntress goes into battle knowing the risks. That it’s selfish of Blake to think she carries the weight of the world in the first place. That it was never only her fight in the first place – doesn’t Ruby have her own history with Roman Torchwick? Doesn’t Weiss have her own complicated relationship with the White Fang?

None of this touches Blake. Instead, quietly, she thinks of her parents, far away in Menagerie. When Blake had left the White Fang —left Adam— she’d come to Beacon because she’d wanted to find another way to protect people, but she also hadn’t wanted to draw Adam’s attention back towards her home. Ghira and Sienna had never quite seen eye to eye, and Adam was wholly Sienna’s creature now. Blake didn’t want to test the bloody havoc that Adam might be willing to wreak in her name.

So. Beacon. But Blake had never expected to find so _much_ here. She’d never expected to meet Ruby, one of the purest lights she’d ever met, a leader who Blake would trust to follow anywhere. Or Yang, her partner, the best she’d ever known, who was starting to feel like her other half out on the battlefield. She’d never expected Weiss, whose sharp tongue awakens something unexpected in Blake.

Blake looks from Yang to Weiss and back again. There’s something tied closely together in the way that she feels about them both, but she doesn’t know how to tend to it, not when her heart is still choked by so much nettle. But there’s a reason why Blake is close to falling to pieces when Yang falls down. There’s a reason that Weiss is the one by her side right now, her hand still clasping Blake’s knee, her thumb moving in soft brushstrokes that sent shivers swimming up Blake’s thighs. Blake closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. Weiss is still there, watching her.

“Maybe,” Blake says again. Steadier, steadied.

Weiss squeezes Blake’s knee. Unexpected tears prick the corners of Blake’s eyes. She reaches out and covers Weiss’s hand with her own, feels Weiss’s slim fingers weave between hers.

“Thank you,” Blake says after a long, quiet pause.

“Oh.” Weiss blushes, charming and curious. “I didn’t do much.”

“You stayed with me. Well, us.” Blake glances towards Yang again. She looks less troubled now. Peaceful, almost. Blake lets herself go and takes Yang’s hand in her free one. Yang barely stirs. Her palm feels comfortable against Blake’s, sturdy and warm.

“I’ll stay with you guys forever. You must know that by now.”

Weiss reaches out to Yang, lets her hand loosely curl around her ankle, the circle complete. Her words hang in the hair, glittering with the precious sheen of a profound truth. Blake wishes that she could say the same thing, match the confidence and valor of Weiss. Blake is still too haunted, too afraid. Weiss doesn’t know what it’s like to lurk in the shadows. Weiss doesn’t know what it’s like to have everything you believe in turned inside out before your own eyes.

(Months and months down the road, Blake will realize how wrong she is. But tonight she can’t see the forest, only the trees.)

The back of Blake’s tongue still tastes bitter, war in her mouth, strife on the wind. Her hands are full of wonder, and she wishes that could be enough. Blake watches Yang: The rise and fall of her chest, the twitch at the corner of her lips. Blake watches Weiss: Eyes a bottomless well of blue compassion, her whole body still poised like a delicate bird about to take flight.

A lightning strike of fondness tears through Blake. She would do anything for them – anything but let them in. There’s still too much at stake.

\--

Blake crumbles, but Yang recovers. The bounce eases back into her step and her interest piques as the excitement for the Vytal Festival starts to ramp up around her. When team CFVY ( _the_ team CFVY) asks Yang to join the planning committee, Yang asks Blake to come with her, hopeful with glee, fed by the enthusiasm of the students who have been pouring in from every corner of Remnant lately.

Blake flatly tells her no, and Yang feels herself deflate.

Ever since the fight with the Paladin, Blake has held herself a little apart from the team. She has been brooding and distant. Yang would be lying if she said it didn’t sting.

“I’ll join the dance committee with you,” says Weiss.

“Thanks,” Yang glumly replies. “But you’re just gonna wanna put out lace doilies, aren’t you?”

“What’s wrong with lace?” Weiss sounds offended.

Yang tilts her head to the side and considers Weiss, lets Weiss’s pert expression and prickly presence leach away the sharpest corners of her funk. She paints on a smug, cheerful expression, even lets herself believe it’s true. She wraps her arm around Weiss’s shoulder and steers her away. “I have so much to teach you. Good thing we’re on the same team.”

It’s not like working with Weiss is a _consolation._ They have a lot of fun together, despite their wildly different tastes. When CFVY’s away mission is extended and Yang and Weiss are put in charge of the whole event, Yang jokes that they’re basically work wives now. Weiss tells her to shut up, but she blushes, and interest licks through Yang like orange flames.

Blake continues to draw in on herself, nodding off in class, dark circles under her eyes, nights where her bunk hardly looks slept in and she shows up thirty seconds before class looking rumpled and strung out. Yang and Weiss keep worrying about Blake, privately and then to each other over fabric swatches and playlists.

“Blake keeps too much in,” Weiss says, looking sad. “It’s eating her alive.”

“Then we’ll have to make her open up,” Yang replies. She sets her chin stubbornly. “It worked before.”

“I don’t believe I can _demand_ a reaction out of her again,” says Weiss. “Not this time. The rally, and then—” Weiss flinches, and then continues carefully, “And then the fight. You didn’t see Blake afterwards. She was really upset.”

That night is a blur to Yang. Too much feeling in the front half; too much fog in the back. She remembers burning with adrenaline at the club, during the fight, when she’d hurled herself at Neopolitan and watched the other woman shatter into a thousand tiny, smarmy pieces. She remembers little afterwards, exhaustion seeping out of her bones and her aura finally breaking. Hazily, she thinks that she remembers somebody taking her hand.

“I’ll get her to talk,” Yang says, with confidence she doesn’t wholly feel yet.

Yang thinks long and hard about Blake that night. When Blake isolates herself like this, it’s out of a misguided sense of nobility. Yang isn’t sure how to tackle that. What she finally settles on is a gambit of equal exchange. If Yang can be open with Blake, maybe it will urge Blake to be vulnerable with her.

Yang doesn’t talk about her mother often – not her birth mother, anyway. But she cherry picks the memory for Blake. More tender than tactical; Yang holds it out to Blake like an offering, a silent, urgent plea to _let her understand._ She wonders if Blake knows how precious a thing this is to share with her. She wonders if it’s made a difference.

The night of the dance, Blake enters the room with a lighter step. She glows. Yang barely even notices Sun on her arm.

Yang elbows Weiss in the side. “Hey. Check it out.”

Weiss follows the angle of Yang’s attention. When she spots Blake, her face lights up. “She looks _beautiful_ ,” Weiss breathes.

“She looks happy,” Yang agrees.

There’s a beat where Yang and Weiss silently admire Blake, and then Blake notices them, their twin expressions, and breaks into a grin. Yang ducks her head.

“She’s coming over,” Weiss says mildly.

“With Sun?”

“No. She’s alone. He’s saying hello to Neptune.” Weiss’s tone curdles on the name.

“What happened there?” Yang asks. “I thought you were going to ask him to the dance.”

“I was. I _did.”_ Weiss sounds miffed. “Clearly he had better things to do.”

“What an idiot.” Yang glances sidelong at Weiss. She looks prettier than usual, rosy colour high on her cheekbones, cutouts in the bodice of her dress drawing attention to the graceful lines of her waist. “Well, so do you.” Yang holds a gallant hand out to Weiss. “Shall we dance, work wife?”

Weiss raises her eyebrows. “I think I’ll have to take the next one.”

“Huh?”

Blake clears her throat, and Yang realizes that she is standing in front of them, looking surprisingly shy. “You still got that dance saved?” Blake asks hopefully.

Weiss grins and bows out of the way. Yang watches Weiss leave, the twitch of her hips, and then turns back to Blake. “Of course. Wow. I mean. You look incredible.”

Blake giggles. “Thanks.” She holds her hand out to Yang. “Will you lead, or should I?”

“Both. Neither. Let’s just dance.” Yang takes Blakes hand and pulls her close, folds Blake into her arms. They look into each other eyes and smile as strains of a new song break through.

Yang shouldn’t be surprised that they fall into easy step. She shouldn’t be surprised that they dance well together. Isn’t this what they train for every day? To know each other’s footwork, to know each other’s bodies? And she’s not – not exactly. Rather, she’s something closer to bowled over. Blake’s skin is glowing, her hair an inky, shiny tangle spilling down her back. She really does look beautiful.

“I’m glad you changed your mind. You look…”

“Incredible?” Blake asks, teasing.

Yang feels a fizzy rush from her throat to her hairline. “Like you’ve gotten some sleep.”

Blake snorts. “Thanks a lot!”

“You know what I mean.” Yang raises her arm, and Blake twirls underneath it. “I’m glad to see you got some rest.”

“Well, I had some _very_ good advice.” Blake finishes the turn, and they end up face to face, chest to chest, a half a beat away from being pressed against one another.

For Yang, the whole world stops for a breath. She sees Blake and nothing else, a soft focus, a tilt shift, whatever. Her eyes drift from Blake’s eyes, warm and watching, to her lips, smiling and quizzical, sweep the moonglow planes of her face. They’ve nearly stopped dancing; now they’re mostly just rocking in place.

“It must have come from someone pretty cool then,” says Yang. She’s going for sly, but she doesn’t sound it. She sounds dazed.

Blake’s smile widens, enjoying this. “She’s alright,” she says casually. “Great hair. Kind of a softie, though.”

“I am not!”

Blake laughs. “You and Weiss are more alike than you think. Always trying to hide your kindness behind your spirit.”

Yang’s skin grows warm. Blake does so much more than brood. She listens. She absorbs. Sometimes Yang feels like a Boarbatusk in a china shop next to Blake, hammering through where Blake would simply raise an eyebrow.

“I _think_ that’s a compliment,” Yang says thoughtfully.

“It is.”

A tendril of hair has fallen loose, and Yang wants to brush it from Blake’s eyes, slowly, watch her golden eyes spark, tip her head down to kiss her. She replays the moment so many times in her head that she’s surprised her hands are still on Blake’s waist and not gently cupping her face. It would be so easy to—

The song starts to fade, and Yang remembers where they are and who they are with. They’re not dancing anymore, just staring into each other’s eyes. Yang clears her throat lightly and laughs. The tension of the moment breaks.

Yang carefully twirls Blake again and bows. “Thanks for the dance,” she says. She feels Sun approaching to reclaim his date, sees him catch Blake’s eye over her shoulder.

Blake smiles again, and it’s only for Yang. “It’ll be hard to top,” she says quietly, and then looks brightly at Sun. “Punch?”

Sun whisks Blake away, and Yang feels adrift for a moment, before a small hand takes her by the elbow, and she turns to face Weiss.

“What are you doing?” Yang ask stupidly, because Weiss is clearly leading them into another dance.

“I get the next one, right?” Weiss says kindly. Then, sharper, “You _do_ know some real dance moves, right?”

Yang huffs with soft laughter and resolves to show Weiss how it’s done. And it’s funny: Yang should feel off kilter, the rapid shift of partners and moods – but instead, she feels like she is finally hearing the second verse of a long beloved song.

\--

As soon as Blake slows down, the pieces start to fall into place. Chalk it up to coincidence, if you want. Chalk it up to destiny, if you’re feeling romantic. Whatever the case, the days crawl by, and life goes on. Beacon student away missions are organized, and RWBY seize on the opportunity to follow a White Fang lead. CFVY return from their away mission, and everybody is surprised to see how drawn they all look, how worn down. Even Coco has lost a bit of her ineffable cool confidence.

“What _happened?”_ Yang asks Coco in the dining hall one night. Weiss and Blake linger nearby. Yang isn’t sure where Ruby is; she remembers her slinking away earlier and mumbling something about asking Emerald if she wanted to study, colour high on her cheekbones.

Coco shrugs. “It’s like Velvet said,” she says carefully. Behind her sunglasses, her expression is unreadable. “There were just a _lot_ of them. I can’t really talk about it more yet.”

Weiss, Yang, and Blake exchange a troubled glance. What could throw _Coco_ off her game? 

“You want my advice?” Coco asks. “Make sure you can trust your team. If you know that they’ll always have your backs, you can get through anything. No matter how dark things start to seem.” Coco frowns, and Blake wonders what she is remembering.

Yang may not know much, but she knows she trusts her team. They feel so strong together, capable of anything. There are variables, but they aren’t unpleasant: The brush of Weiss’s hand, the burn of Blake’s eyes. Yang is still working out what they mean tied together. But on the battlefield? RWBY is unparalleled.

(Sometime down the road when they are all divided, Yang will remember the naïve bravado of these thoughts and want to sob.)

Nobody has ever had Weiss’s back before, not really. Coco’s words feel like being presented with a brand-new scientific theorem. Ruby is her true partner, teaching Weiss to let go of herself while Weiss layers in careful balance. Blake and Yang light fires underneath Weiss’s skin that excite her ways she’s never felt before. For the first time she’s not thinking of her legacy, her past, her prison, but new ways forward.

(On the ship back to Atlas, recalled by her father, Weiss will reflect on this as a bitter joke.)

Blake is still tempted to hold everything in. She used to think it was for her friends, to protect them – but she’s starting to worry that it’s because she’s a coward. Blake kept telling herself that it’s better to keep to yourself than ever risk getting hurt – hadn’t she learned her lesson with Adam? Weiss and Yang have been prying at the hinges of a rusted vault, and it’s working. The rush she feels when she’s with them is sweeter and stronger than any open wound.

(One brutal strike from Wilt and Blush, and all this newfound resolve will fall to pieces.)

“Don’t worry,” Yang says boldly. She slings one arm around Blake’s shoulders, the other around Weiss. “There’s no one better. Right, guys?”

Coco smiles and shakes her head. Weiss notices small lines at the corners of her mouth and thinks that behind the sunglasses, Coco must look tired.

They head into their away mission in bright spirits anyway, following Ruby, their bright lodestone; a stowaway dog and an absentminded professor. When they arrive in the southeast quadrant, the fights are grueling, tedious, and constant. A heightened form of extermination, Oobleck calls it, and Yang glumly starts to see his point as she punches her thousandth Grimm of the day into dust.

It doesn’t become truly unsettling until Oobleck starts quizzing them off guard. Startled, they fall into old habits: Yang hides behind a sunny mask, Blake broods, and Weiss falls back on the looming spectre of the Schnee name. None it satisfies any of them, and when they grumble about it over their campfire later that night, it is forlorn and frustrated.

Ruby takes first watch, and the rest of them try and get some sleep. It doesn’t come easily, and Yang, Weiss, and Blake find themselves talking into the small hours of the night instead, murmuring over what being a huntress means to them. Eventually they fall quiet again. Yang thinks that maybe Weiss and Blake have fallen asleep. She still can’t seem to. Something Weiss said earlier keeps running through her head, about how being a huntress is a job, about how what they want will have to come second.

Yang is only beginning to figure out what she wants, but she doesn’t know how she could possibly put it second. She said what she was looking for was adventure; what she left unsaid was that she can’t think of any adventure finer than the two girls lying by the fire with her.

“Weiss?” Yang whispers into the darkness.

Weiss makes an annoyed noise. “Are you ever going to _sleep_?”

Yang winces. “Sorry.” She falls quiet.

There is a long silence, and then Weiss’s aggrieved sigh and the rustling of her skirts as she sits up. “Well? What is it?”

Yang props herself up on her elbows. “Did you mean what you said before? About what we want not mattering?”

“I never said that!”

“You know what I mean.” Yang twirls a lock of hair around her finger, a sleepy, unguarded gesture.

“It has to, doesn’t it?” This comes from Blake, also clearly still awake. “We’re saving people’s lives. It’s not exactly an everyday nine-to-five.”

“What about… other stuff?” Yang continues to fiddle with her hair.

“What do you mean, _other stuff_?” Weiss asks suspiciously.

“I don’t know.” Yang twists a strand of her hair tightly around her index finger. In the back of her mind, she thinks, _love,_ but she’s losing her nerve already. “Never mind.”

Weiss is snippy because she’s waiting for Yang to say it. There’s prickling anticipation at the back of her neck, more below her waist. What Weiss _wants_ has been so inexorably tied to Yang and Blake for so long that Yang might as well be screaming her unspoken words, the ones between the lines. 

Both of them are waiting for Blake to close the loop. What she’d said earlier, about having a partner, about having a bad one, it weighs over them all now, puts the ball in Blake’s court. Neither Yang nor Weiss are interested in pushing her through the door.

Blake knows it. She knows that it’s fair. But she’s already given so much just by _telling_ them about Adam – she wonders if they even know just how big a push it is.

(Of course they don’t. Blake has never given them the chance to know it.)

Blake sits up and sees that Yang and Weiss already are. They’ve edged closer together throughout the night, like magnets, and all three of them are on one side of the fire now.

“Team RWBY,” Blake says firmly. “That’s more important than any job.”

“And us?” Yang asks. Her voice sounds small. Nobody asks for her to clarify. RWBY does come first, and Ruby is so precious to them, but they all know that what they are wrestling with belongs only to the three of them.

“We’re more important too,” says Weiss. Of all of them, Yang didn’t think that Weiss would be the one to say it, not without blushing, not with total resolve. It makes Blake feel a dozen things at once: Ashamed, relieved, encouraged, swollen with emotion, affection, and… yes, love.

Blake holds out her hand, because it’s the only thing left to do. It’s followed by Weiss’s small pale one, and Yang’s, calloused and strong. Their fingers all tangle into a knot. Blake feels a tentative curl of desire, the kind she’d thought she had forgotten how to trust.

“So what now?” asks Yang.

“We keep fighting.” Blake’s thumb skates over Yang’s knuckles, freckled with scrapes and scabs, old and new. “We keep growing together.”

“That sounds nice,” says Yang.

Weiss thinks it sounds like a miracle, to have them holding her aloft on either side like wings. She thinks about family, they pure joy distilled in getting to choose your own. She thinks about Yang’s fingertips trailing over the inside of her wrist where blue veins shine through like milky cobalt threads. She thinks about the nights they have ahead.

When Weiss, Yang, and Blake finally fall asleep, it is nestled in a pile, Weiss’s head nestled against Yang’s shoulder, Blake’s arm wrapped around Yang’s waist. This round, they sleep soundly, their earlier worries buried in each other’s arms and falls of hair. When Ruby comes to wake Yang for her watch, she has to shake her awake.

“Sorry,” Ruby says. Her eyes are huge, but there’s cautious understanding behind the surprise. “I can take a second round if you—”

“No, I’m up.” Yang groans softly and delicately extracts herself from the sleeping pile. Weiss stirs, murmurs, but doesn’t wake. She rolls over in her sleep and pillows her cheek against Blake’s shoulder. Yang feels that crest of love again and smiles.

Ruby claps Yang on the shoulder before she crawls towards her own sleeping bag. She’s smiling, pure and shining. “Good night, Yang,” Ruby says softly. Her eyes say so much more.

\--

A new, playful air takes over after that. They fight for their lives on the train, downtown Vale takes a beating – but afterwards, RWBY really feel like they’ve made a difference. Torchwick is in jail, his plans in shambles, the White Fang scattered. Blake never even had to face Adam.

The days turn lazy as classes let out in lieu of the Vytal Festival, and they all spend most of their time training for the tournament and wandering the fair grounds. Ruby starts to spend long afternoons hanging out with her strange friend Penny, which leave open hours for Blake, Weiss, and Yang to navigate each other. They experiment with taking each other’s hands in public, letting thighs press against thighs when they sit together, with heated glances and sparring matches that grow a little too loud. Many nights when Ruby tiptoes home after dark, it’s to find the three of them piled into Blake’s bed and lined up like spoons.

They never take things further than that. The future stretches out before them, and all three of them are happy to take it slow. But they find ample opportunities to touch; while they train, while they push through the bustling Vytal Fest crowds.

And then the tournament begins, and team RWBY keeps winning, and they’re walking on air, school champions as well as heroes. When they make it to the finals, they all think that nothing will bring them down: Not Winter’s stern lectures, not Qrow’s ominous warnings.

When Yang fights Mercury and the scandal breaks, it’s as good as ice water thrown on them all, plunging them back to earth.

For Blake, the response it evokes is familiar and sick. She remembers Adam breaking bones and saying that it wasn’t his fault. She remembers the warm, unwavering trust she had had in him before, the passion, the stars in her eyes. She wonders in a panic if her attraction to Yang has blinded her to something atrocious, if she’s a terrible person for getting drawn to these cracked values again and again.

But Adam never pleaded so sweetly for contrition. Adam never looked at Blake with wounded eyes when she expressed her doubts, only narrowed glares and spits of rage. Adam rarely even let Blake express her doubts, come to think of it.

Blake is torn. She wants the believe in Yang. She _does_ believe in Yang. It’s herself that she’s doubting. Not that it makes a difference when Yang is looking at Blake like she’s trying not to cry, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, lower lip sucked in on a shaky quiver.

When they all edge out of the room to give Yang some space, Blake hangs back awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” she says to Yang.

Yang’s head snaps up as though she thought Blake had left the room with the others. She hasn’t had time to raise her shields: Her expression is naked anguish, confusion, fear.

“I just wish I knew what the hell was going on,” Yang replies. She’s trying to sound brave. She fails.

Blake has one hand on the door, but it’s all she can do not to rush to Yang’s side, wrap her arms around Yang and press her lips to her hair. Instead, Blake hangs back. Instead, Blake hesitates.

“Do you want me to stay?” asks Blake.

Yang’s return gaze is haunted. Blake doesn’t think she’s ever seen Yang _brood_ before, not like this. Her heart hurts.

“No,” says Yang. “I think I want to be alone for a little while.”

This is, again, so anathema to Yang, the walking ball of sunshine, the party in a bottle. Blake is seeing more of herself in Yang than she ever has before tonight, but it’s making her feel further from Yang than she ever has.

“Looks like the tables have turned,” Blake jokes weakly. “Now you’re the one not letting me in.”

The look that Yang gives her is so tragic that Blake gulps and slips out of the room.

There’s the final round of the tournament, but nobody is much in the mood anymore. Ruby goes to cheer on Penny and Pyrrha, and Weiss and Blake head to the fairgrounds, looking for a moment of peace in the din.

Blake can’t stop thinking about Yang. The panic in her eyes when she’d seen her own actions replayed on the giant stadium screen. Her hand flying up to cover her mouth in horror when she’d seen Mercury writhing on the ground in pain. Her slumped, defeated posture when Blake had left her in the dorms. That one had to hurt the most.

What Blake had wanted to tell Yang was that she was sorry, that of course she knew that Yang would never do anything like that, that her hesitant reaction had more to do with herself than it ever had to do with Yang. She wishes she had jumped to Yang’s defense with the unwavering sureness that Weiss had. That would have been the right thing to do.

Blake is beyond relieved that Weiss has offered her an out for the tournament finals. She would much rather be in a cozy tea shop with Weiss, sitting close and drawing comfort from each other on this awful night.

Unfortunately, cozy tea shops are in short supply on the last night of the Vytal tournament. Everywhere they go, chairs have been piled in to accommodate people coming in off the streets to watch the fight on screens from projectors bolted into the walls – and everywhere they go, it’s loud. Eventually, they find room at the bar of a dive that is just sparsely populated enough for Blake and Weiss to have some elbow room. They look around in dismay, shrug, and then scoot their stools close together. Weiss’s foot winds around Blake’s ankle. At least they got that part of the plan right.

They’d gone out to avoid watching the final match, but that is clearly an impossible task. Port and Oobleck’s commentary booms from speakers in every corner. Blake sips her tea (good, but not _great_ ) and pushes her focus on Weiss, trying to drown out the buzz for aggression.

“Take it easy,” Weiss says mildly. You look like you’re about to punch the first person who taps you on the shoulder to ask for directions.”

“Who’s tapping strangers on the shoulder?” Blake asks irritably. But she takes a breath and tries to relax her shoulders. When _Weiss Schnee_ tells you that you’re being uptight, it’s time to listen. 

“Whatever is going on with Yang, we’ll figure it out,” says Weiss. “Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that.” Blake bites her lip. “I really hate how I left things back there.”

“So you’ll apologize later.” Weiss reaches over and squeezes Blake’s knee. “It’s not the end of the world.”

When they’d all started circling each other, Blake had been so sure that Yang would be the most physical of the three of them. Brash, confident, flirtatious Yang, who always seems to relish throwing her off balance. But more often than not, it’s Weiss who lays a hand on a thigh, a head on a shoulder, who follows the lines of their throats with hungry eyes. It’s like after so many chilly years robbed of real affection in the Schnee Manor, Weiss is making up for lost time.

That is to say, Weiss squeezes Blake’s knee, and Blake feels a little bit better. Her head had been swimming since she clocked the tears in Yang’s eyes. Weiss’s presence clears it. Blake takes another sip of tea.

What _had_ happened to Yang? The cameras caught one thing, Yang swears another. In the stands, Blake had seen Mercury whimper and cower, but she hadn’t seen anything malicious on Yang’s face. Blake still remembers the twisted smile Adam wore on the killing fields, sparking like livewires and twice as dangerous. There was a touch of madness in Adam, the kind that grows from badly misplaced valor and pain. Blake bites back a shudder. She never wants to see that look on someone’s face again.

Yang had only looked overwhelmed.

A trick of the light, or a hallucination? After her match with Emerald and Mercury, Coco had said something about seeing a phantom Yatsu in the trees. Blake had chalked it up to nerves, but now she’s wondering if there is something more to the story. Her mind circles the knowledge that Mercury was there both times.

Blake is starting to put together the pieces when there’s a gasp from the crowd and a murmur sweeps the room. She looks sidelong at Weiss, and finds Weiss glued to one of the television screens. Blake follows her stare.

It’s the final match of the tournament; Penny versus Pyrrha. Onscreen, Pyrrha looks tiny and frightened in a way Blake has never seen before. Blake looks up just in time to see Pyrrha throw out her semblance with too much force, and to watch Penny crumple like a tin can.

\--

Pandemonium reigns in the wake of Cinder’s speech. A stampede overtakes the bar; Blake shelters Weiss under her arm and Weiss tucks in gratefully as they press through the crowd. When they get outside, they are greeted with more screaming, more panic, and knots of Grimm starting to move in. Men and women in White Fang masks dot the ground and Weiss looks at Blake in wide eyed horror.

“Not the end of the world, huh?” Blake asks dryly.

“ _Now_ is when you decide to start making jokes?”

Blake doesn’t reply. Instead she runs into the fray with Weiss at her heels. Weiss watches, quietly frantic, while Blake calls Yang on her scroll, while Yang cuts out of the conversation to dive into a fight with a snarling Grimm, while panic mounts, mounts, mounts on the streets and Blake calls her weapon down to earth.

 _We’re going to do our jobs,_ Blake says, but there are words behind that, the promises they’ve made: The job comes second. They’re going to the docks, and they’re going to save Yang.

Nothing has prepared Weiss for this battlefield: Not even the relentless trudge at Mountain Glenn, when she had fought mechanically until her muscles protested dully; not even the chaos in Vale after the train had crashed in the city. Weiss thinks about her actual _training_ rooms, the lecture halls at Beacon, the icy chambers in Atlas, and chokes back a sob. Definitely nothing like those.

“Watch out!” Blake shouts.

Weiss spins on her heel so fast and so hard that she feels it in her teeth just as a Beowolf lands on the ground in front of her. It’s powerful haunches bend to absorb the landing, and Weiss is sure that she feels the earth shake, or maybe that is just her own slimy fear. She points her sword, the line elegant and prepared, and shoots a gravity dust fused glyph its way. The Beowolf’s moves grow sluggish, like it’s moving through molasses, and Weiss quickly grabs the upper hand, darting forward and slashing the monster into wispy ribbons before it gain regain its natural speed.

Weiss hears the clash of fighting and Blake’s angry cry, and turns to find her locked in combat with a masked member of the White Fang.

“What are you _doing_?” Blake cries. “You know this isn’t right!”

The White Fang member grunts but doesn’t reply. Blake sweeps her leg and knocks him on his ass. He falls hard and lays on the ground, unmoving, but Blake grinds her heel into his chest anyway, emotion rising on her face as she shouts, “ _Answer me!”_

Weiss darts to Blake’s side and pulls her away from the soldier. “Come on,” she pleads, “It’s not worth it. We have to get down to the docks.”

Blake’s mouth is still twisted in a snarl, and for a moment, Weiss is genuinely alarmed. She pulls on Blake’s arm anyway, not anywhere close to giving up yet. “Let’s _go!”_

Blake takes a shaky step backwards, and then two more in quicker succession. The look she shoots Weiss is branded with naked fear. “The docks,” she rasps.

Weiss nods and they break into a jog. They’re still aiming for the docks, but it’s slow going. Everywhere, there are screams. Everywhere, there are people in turmoil. Weiss is desperate to find Yang, but she’s also redefining the scope of _the job comes first_ tonight.

Blake lays about with her whip and Weiss conjures glyph after glyph. They both slide into formation with their swords brandished, and Weiss misses the tinny voice of Ruby’s commands ( _Checkmate!_ ) like it’s a physical injury. In a time like this, she needs more than Blake, more than Blake-and-Yang, even. Weiss craves the sure presence of RWBY, of her team. If they can find their way to each other, they can get through this night. Beacon can get through this night.

Eventually, the odds become overwhelming, and Weiss and Blake start to realize that they aren’t going to make it to the docks. There’s too much calamity, too much to do. They clear one block and then more Grimm pour through. They carve through a street and fight a knot of helpless citizens cornered, are honour bound to point them to safety.

In the sky, an Atlesien airship careens wildly, its wings aflame. A mighty Grimm lands on the ground with an earth shaking crack and a roar. On the ground, there are screams from every quarter, and Weiss can’t tease out which cries to follow.

Weiss and Blake’s eyes meet and they know without speaking that they’re going to have to split up. Blake nods, and Weiss feels her heart go into freefall. Ruby and Yang’s whereabouts are still dangerous unknowns. Weiss’s whole body screams not to send Blake out alone out there too. But tonight their mettle is being tested, and there’s only one choice here for a true huntress. Weiss steels her resolve.

Her eyes flick to Blake’s mouth. She thinks she wants to kiss her, but there isn’t any time. “Be safe,” she says instead. They nod and run their separate paths.

Weiss tries to put Blake out of her mind as she keeps fighting her way down to the docks, keeps shielding civilians and looking for her friends. When she runs into JNPR, CFVY, and the others, she tries to let it cheer her, let the new hope spur her on. When she sees Yang again, her relief is palpable, a cresting wave. They’re going to be okay, she tells herself when Yang takes off again in search of Blake. Everything was going to be okay.

The next time Weiss sees Blake, she’s curled up on the ground by the docks, sobbing openly, a bloody gash speared through her torso. And Yang… and Yang…

Weiss won’t blindly cling to hope again for a while.

The last time Weiss sees Blake, it’s at the safehouse just outside of Vale. Blake keeps to the shadows, leaning against the wall of the house, and Weiss almost misses her on her way in, but for the quick, familiar gleam of her golden eyes in the dark.

“What are you doing out here?” Weiss asks.

Blake winces and touches her side. The wound has been tended and bandaged, but it’s still tender, and it must still hurt. “I’m leaving,” she says in a low voice.

Weiss’s eyes widen. “You can’t! Communication towers are down. Transportation is a mess.”

Weiss feels like an idiot, spitting facts when what she wants to do is acknowledge the wind that is being knocked out of her right now.

“I’ll take a boat.” Blake shrugs. “I get by.”

“ _Why_?” So much emotion in one single word. It’s not just that they’re in the throes of the opening gambits of war. It’s not just that now, of any time, RWBY should be circling the wagons, holding each other dear. It’s that something about Blake’s retreating footsteps feels _inevitable_ to Weiss. She thinks of Blake when she first met her, curled in posture, sturdy walls. Weiss can’t bear it.

“It’s safer this way,” Blake says. Her voice trembles. “What happened to Yang. That was _my fault._ ”

“You know it wasn’t.”

“You weren’t there!” Blake’s voice turns sharp and angry. She breathes. “I’m not asking for your permission. But I’m… going.”

All Weiss can do anymore is stare, her jaw set, her eyes uncompromising. She doesn’t understand. Blake reaches out and cups her cheek, and the soft gesture undoes Weiss. She feels her melting point approaching, feels herself start to lean into Blake’s touch—

\--and then feels nothing. Blake is gone. Her final simulacrum melts away and Weiss feels a piece of her heart break.

Weiss spends the rest of the night in Yang’s room, staring miserably at the wall and holding onto Yang’s hand. Ruby is still unconscious in a room down the hall. Weiss feels very alone.

She doesn’t think she can ever understand what Blake has done, why Blake would leave. But two days later, a blindingly white airship with the Schnee logo stamped on its side flies into port, and Weiss is shepherded on board. It’s not her choice, but the end result is still the same: Weiss leaves.

When she says goodbye to Yang, Yang will barely even look at her. Yang has barely looked at anything but the dreary sapling outside her window since she woke up.

(Weiss didn’t know how to tell her that Blake was gone. She feels guilty relief when Sun pipes in with the details).

On the long, sad ride home Weiss thinks about Blake a lot. The end result is the same. Maybe Blake didn’t feel like she had a choice in the matter either.

\--

In the following months, Yang spends too much time angry.

She doesn’t mean to. She knows that she’s wallowing. Privately, she thinks that she has every _right_ to wallow. Her whole arm is probably lying on the floor of Beacon Academy somewhere. Her heart sure is.

Yang can’t bring herself to be mad at Ruby, a hero from a legend in miniature, pushing forward with the next quest. She can’t bring herself to be mad at Weiss, who has basically been kidnapped by her father and sent to a place that she hated. But Blake… Yang smolders with rage over Blake.

When Yang thinks about Blake, it’s like her lungs are on fire and she wants to squeeze her eyes tightly shut. If it’s driven by longing, well – Yang doesn’t want to hear it.

Eventually, Yang pulls herself together. Training helps. Time helps. She learns how to fine tune her new arm and balance her newly shifted weight in a fight. She starts to laugh and let the sunlight in again like a tiny springtime shoot. She knows that her dad worries about her, and starts to count the days by the lines of tension on his face, starts to see her recovery reflected in them fading. The first time Yang manages to remove and replace her new arm with no help whatsoever, she crows. But she still remains angry with Blake.

If Yang stops being angry, she’s have to let the flash flood of hurt come rushing through. She’s not ready for that. She doubts that she ever will be. She knots her resentment more tightly ever day and promises herself that it’s true.

Of course it would be Weiss who breaks the dam.

Yang feels the first cracks in the ice from the moment she finds Weiss in Raven’s camp. Weiss flings her arms around Yang’s neck and Yang sweeps her off the ground, feels her eyes drift shut, feels a warm balm start to melt her soul.

 _I missed you so much_ , Weiss tells Yang, and Yang feels that in her marrow. She didn’t realize how _viscerally_ she’d missed Weiss until she was holding Weiss in her arms again. Yang’s hand goes to the back of Weiss’s head and she wants to keep touching her forever, but Raven’s eyes are a burning reminder that they’re in kind of a weird situation. When Yang sets Weiss down, it’s regretfully, and Yang sees the sentiment mirrored in Weiss’s eyes. She wishes that she could at least hold Weiss’s hand.

The day has a lot of ups and downs. There’s reuniting with Weiss, but there’s also finding Raven, and it’s more disappointing than the most dismal scenario Yang ever conjured as a little kid. Okay, she didn’t turn in a Nevermore and try to eat her. It’s was more dismal than _most_ of the dismal scenarios Yang had conjured as a kid.

And there’s seeing Ruby again, Yang breathing deeper when she sees her sister safe and on her feet. Everyone is carefree that night, including Yang. She and Weiss sit closer and closer together as the night wears on, but there’s a silent line between them that they won’t cross.

As the night goes on and Yang grows tired, Blake’s absence starts to gnaw at her. She doesn’t mean for it to happen, but the warm room, the laughter, trading stories and seeing Ruby and Weiss wherever she looks… it feels so close to normal, except for the fact that Blake isn’t there. And as soon as Yang notices this, she can’t _stop_ seeing that Blake isn’t there. Her mood darkens.

The conversation turns to Salem and magic and Raven, and Yang’s mood darkens even more. She knows it isn’t fair to tie her frustrations with her birth mother to the painful abscess where Blake should be – but Yang does it anyway, until she grows muddled and cranky.

Weiss is the first to approach Yang, but it’s not like she keeps her turmoil a secret. When she snaps at Weiss and Ruby over coffee, Yang knows that it’s only a matter of time before somebody talks to her.

She’s glad that it’s Weiss. She doesn’t think she could listen to anybody but Weiss right now.

While they talk, it occurs to Yang that she and Weiss are a mirror of where they were not so many months earlier, conspiring to urge Blake to open up to them. Like Yang in that classroom the night before the dance, Weiss cradles Yang with a story. She tells Yang more about her family than she ever has before, and it hurts Yang to hear what has always been there right in front of her eyes, but it’s cauterizing, binding. Yang starts to see the shape of the world that Weiss grew up in and somehow through Weiss’s eyes, she sees where Blake must have come from too.

(Yang wonders if Blake is ever thinking about her. If she’s on a balcony somewhere far away, the wind in her hair, Yang’s name on her lips, Weiss in her heart. For the first time, the thought makes Yang wistful more than it stings.)

Weiss rests her hand on Yang’s shoulder and it’s a benediction; Yang unravels; Yang breaks into sobs. It’s as much letting out grief as from the sweetness of Weiss’s touch. Yang wants to collapse into Weiss’s lap and cry for days; let Weiss run her fingers through her hair and make gentle shushing noises. And maybe she would have, but Ruby knocks on the door a moment later, and Yang has to pull herself together for her little sister.

Yang’s steps feel lighter nonetheless.

There are a million things that Yang still wants to talk about with Weiss, a million touches to try, a million new comments to test. They still feel Blake’s shadow between them, but Yang can feel her skin burning again when Weiss looks at her sidelong or wraps her fingers around Yang’s wrist. She likes it, the cheerful crackle of the flames.

And maybe they would prod further if it wasn’t for the rotten timing. It’s always rotten timing, Yang muses, but that doesn’t make it any less true: They have Haven to worry about, and Ozpin and Qrow are clearly worried about a second academy falling from their grasp.

This doesn’t stop Yang from thinking about it. Between Blake, Weiss, and her mother, Yang’s mind is very busy lately. She has them all on her mind so often that it has the peculiar effect of making seeing any of them feel inevitable. With Weiss, this is less startling; they’ve been virtually glued to each other’s sides since being reunited. Neither have crawled into each other’s beds yet, but Yang knows that she longs to.

When she sees Raven, it’s startling. Not the seeing, but the sense of _of course you’re here._ Yang thinks it all the way down to the vault, even thinks it when she learns that Raven is the spring maiden. Her mother’s words make Yang’s tongue feel thick with pain, but they still seem like what was always going to happen. Maybe that’s where Yang finds the courage to talk with as much conviction as she did, despite her empty sleeve and emptier heart.

Even that strange, alien desert walk to collect the relic had felt like retracing the steps of a grander plan.

When she sees Blake standing in the rubble of Haven’s entryway – her heart says something like, _oh there you are. I’ve been waiting for you,_ although her body doesn’t let the chance to process it, already diving towards the vault, towards making this day worth the bloodshed.

And all of that is what drives Yang to her knees in the desert, the dry hot wind battering her cheeks when she cries out, infinitesimal glass crystals of sand floating in the atmosphere in defiance of gravity. Yang cries for her mother, who has left her again, and left her wih a heavy secret. Yang cries for Weiss, gravely injured up on the surface, only Jaune Arc’s freaking healing hands keeping her on the balance between life and death. Yang cries for the anchor of duty she can see starting to weigh Ruby down and for all the people that she’s lost – and she cries for Blake, the one who’s returned.

(Blake’s face in the doorway is still seared on her mind, the widening eyes, the prick of her ears.)

Yang pulls herself together and returns to the surface. She feels lighter on the way up, like she’s been scourged by the world between worlds. When she returns, it’s triumphant. When she returns, it’s to RWBY reassembled, and Yang knows why this path has seemed familiar: It’s because she was always, always, meant to end up back here. They all fall onto each other in relief, and it’s as firm and distinct as a key clicking open a lock.

\--

There’s room for a reprieve in the aftermath. Blake, Yang, and Weiss nudge their way towards it, almost can’t believe their luck when they finally find themselves in an empty classroom. Yang is still looking at Blake like she’s a miracle. Weiss grimaces and gently touches her side.

“Hey,” Blake says, gesturing towards Weiss, “Now we match.”

“Lovely,” Weiss says through gritted teeth. “Just what I’ve always wanted. Matching hers and hers scars.”

“What about me?” asks Yang. Yang will tell you that she never pouts, but right now she’s coming close.

Weiss waves dramatically towards Yang’s arm. “You want _more_?”

The reaction is instant: Blake’s face falls, and Weiss winces. Yang’s concern darts between the two of them, trying to gauge how best to smooth this over, not wanting to kill the spirit of the moment. Not wanting to worry the reunion.

Before Yang can say anything Blake turns to her with huge, guilt-filled eyes. “Yang,” she begins, “What happened to you—”

“Let’s not talk about that right now,” Yang says quickly. In the future, she knows that they will have to. But right now she’s not ready to relive it.”

“But I—”

“We’ve got a long train ride to Argus ahead of us,” Weiss says brightly. “We can talk for hours then. Blake, did you just drop out of the sky?”

Yang flashes Weiss a grateful look, and Weiss returns a tiny smile.

Blake still looks uncomfortable, but she tries to shake it off with a shrug. “You know how I like to make an entrance.”

“I thought that was Yang’s thing,” says Weiss.

Yang grins. “That’s why we make such a great team.”

Blake blushes, but looks pleased. Weiss takes it as a positive sign. “You’ll have to prove it the next time we find a training ground,” she jokes.

Yang raises an eyebrow. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she asks Weiss. She sounds like her old self again, teasing and flirtatious. “Watching me and Blake spar?”

“Winner takes all,” Blake adds.

“Oh yeah? What do they take?”

“Weiss.”

Weiss gasps – the _absolute audacity_ – but a minute later she’s laughing alongside Blake and Yang, until all three of them are holding each other up and stifling giggles.

“Please,” Weiss says. She looks like she might roll her eyes, and then a different thought occurs to her. Her blue eyes darken and she lays a hand on Yang’s arm. “Please.”

Yang stops laughing. She looks quickly at Blake, wondering how she will react. Blake is watching her and Weiss. She looks – not quite predatory. _Hungry._

Is it the adrenaline, the relief, the time, or the new awareness of how fleeting a moment can be that presses them to feel _now_ is the right time? None of them know, but all three of them feel it, looming overhead like a pulse. Weiss says _please_ and Yang knows the answer. She cups Weiss’s face in her hands and kisses her.

Weiss sighs into Yang’s mouth like she’s been waiting. Her hands ball into fists and clutch the front of Yang’s shirt, drag Yang closer. One of Yang’s hands slides into Weiss’s battle-mussed hair. The other reaches for Blake. Blake catches Yang’s hands and kisses her fingertips one by one. She draws closer, until she’s near enough to turn Weiss’s head towards her and kiss her mouth. Weiss whimpers, fists tightening in the fabric of Yang’s shirt. Yang brushes Blake’s hair over her shoulder and kisses the side of her neck.

They hardly move besides tilting their heads to exchange kisses, as though any sudden movement could shatter the moment irreparably. There is Yang, kissing along Blake’s jaw, capturing Blake’s lips against her own; there is Weiss, crushed against Yang, struggling to unzip her leather jacket.

Weiss pushes the jacket off of Yang’s shoulders and it lands with a heavy thud that startles them all. They freeze.

Blake giggles against Yang’s lips. “Adrenaline?” she asks lightly.

It’s the first out any of them have offered. Yang would rather fling herself back into the maiden’s vault than take it. Weiss would rather take another spear through the torso.

“If you think that’s all this is,” says Yang, “Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Yang kisses Blake again, pulls Weiss tightly to her side. Weiss’s hands start to roam, skimming under the hem of Yang’s shirt.

Blake feels like gold poured into broken pottery, like the cracks in the shoreline of Menagerie that fill into rivers when the tides are high. She’s kissing Weiss, the hard edge of a school desk pressing against the backs of her thighs and Weiss standing between her legs. She’s kissing Yang, taking handfuls of that glorious hair and marvelling about how _warm_ Yang’s lips are. She’s a tangle of limbs, of sighs, of promises.

Weiss feels like lightning dancing on wire. All that passion, all that fire, and now she has somewhere to put it. She wants to tear Yang’s shirt off of her, unsnap the top button of Yang’s jeans.

Yang thinks about patterns and circles. The three of them lying in a circle at Mountain Glenn; Weiss’s hand circling her wrist; Blake’s tongue circling a divot in her collarbone right now. The full circles of them breaking apart and now coming back together. The patterns they make on each other’s skins when they tumble together in a heap.

None of them are sure where they are willing to take this right now; all of them know that it’s probably further than they should probably go. They’re saved from any true explanation when Ruby knocks lightly on the door. Everybody’s clothes are still mostly on, nobody is in the throes of a truly mortifying moan.

Weiss still jumps up guiltily when Ruby enters without waiting for an answer and fidgets with the hem of her dress. Ruby gasps in horror and shields her eyes, and Yang goes scrambling for her jacket.

“A little warning might have been nice!” says Ruby, aghast, hand still planted firmly over her eyes.

“Like you gave us the chance?” Yang retorts. “Who knocks and then comes sailing in?”

“I didn’t expect to find _that!_ ”

“You don’t have to cover your eyes,” Blake says calmly. “We’re all decent.”

Ruby slowly peels her fingers away from her face like she’s not sure she believes Blake. When she has a full view of them, her expression softens and changes. Weiss has been through enough battles with Ruby to know that she’s rolling through their pasts, putting together the pieces. Finally, she breaks into a smile. “I guess it’s been a long time coming,” she admits.

Weiss grins at Yang, who is shaking out her hair, and Blake, who smirks. “You have no idea.”

Ruby shakes her head and then backs out of the room. “Nora, I found them!” she shouts. “They were all _making out_ in an abandoned classroom!”

“Finally!” Nora yells from somewhere down the hall, which makes everyone start laughing.

“I guess we should all go back,” Yang admits.

Weiss sighs. She longingly looks around the classroom, already nostalgic for the minutes when she was kissing Blake and Yang.

“Hey,” says Blake, nudging Weiss. “We’ve got a long train ride to Argus ahead of us, right?”

Weiss lights up. It’s true that she dreads returning to Atlas. It’s true that she just went through hell to get _out_ of there. But she’s back with her team, back on her mission, and back with the women she loves – and Atlas doesn’t seem so mighty anymore. The next time her father tries to strike her down, Weiss thinks that she just might strike back.

They head back to the main entrance. Yang holds Weiss’s hand and swings it between them. She slings am arm around Blake’s shoulders. Blake catches the flash of yellow metal out of the corner of her eye and flinches. They still have a long way to go, she and Yang. She’s not kidding when she says she’s looking forward to the long train ride. She’s grateful that the love and attraction is still clearly there, but she needs to find a way to let Yang know that she won’t leave her side, that she won’t let her down.

Yang is content for now, but a secret lurks in the back of her head. Raven Branwen is the spring maiden. For all her talk about transparency and honestly, Yang doesn’t know how to broach this one. She feels like Blake keeping secrets at Beacon and saying it was for their own good.

So yes, they are troubled – but they are together, and sometimes that’s all that matters. When Blake, Weiss, and Yang re-emerge into the entrance hall, everybody is already gathered, and they break into a round of goofy hollers and applause. Yang blushes but puffs out her chest. Blake tries to look aloof, but she’s smiling. Weiss actually gives a small curtsy, which surprises them all.

That night, they sleep in a bed together, the three of them lined up like spoons. 

**Author's Note:**

> god!!!! this was a journey. sorry if it's a mess, i really let the muses take me on this one. thank you so much for reading!! xx


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